By Definition
by MorningToGlory
Summary: 221B drabbles in which each chapter is prompted by a word, going in alphabetical order. "A" is from a word generator, but I'd love to take requests for the following letter! Chapters might turn into story, might just stay drabbles. Most will be hurt/comfort as I can't resist it! The more intriguing the letter prompts, the faster this will go up!
1. A is for Applaud

**A/N: This story was inspire by a similar story by Haelia and by David Levithan's Lover's Dictionary. Reviews are appreciated!**

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**Applaud**

"Applaud."

John blinked and let out an involuntary, and highly regrettable, gasp as he came back to the present.

"Sorry, what?" But Sherlock was already walking away, leaving behind a well-informed, albeit humbled Lestrade and Donovan to wrap up a seemingly complicated, gruesome double murder.

"Applaud, if you must" Sherlock drawled as he stormed out of the alley, "but standing there slack-mouthed like a hungry dog only equates you with the other buffoons on the Yard, a resemblance with which I'd much rather not share a flat." At that Sherlock stepped into a waiting taxi and shut the door, barely allowing John the chance to avoid a broken hand. The window was rolled down to deliver one last sting.

"If only you observed, John, you would not find such _fascination_ in my work…nor in me." With that the cab, and Sherlock, were gone.

John's entire being tensed as he drew in a breath, attempting to ignore the growing pangs in his chest, his shoulder, his leg. The meaning of Sherlock's words were obtuse as always. Well, his general dismay in John's intelligence was nothing new and quite forthright, but fascination? The way Sherlock's voiced curled in malice around the word and slid quickly from annoyance to icy disdain by the end made John fear how truly observant the detective could be.


	2. B is for Bemused

Bemused did not suit Sherlock. Bemused was far worse than bored. It was insufferably less tolerable and led to a barrage of bullets in Mrs. Hudson's beloved wall. Bemused caused itching fingers to roam to bedrooms to break abundant bargains with a belittling brother who bemoaned the beastly business of _blow. _

"Mmm…bemused" Sherlock moaned as a seven percent solution slipped into veins and bemused billowed away. It had been a particularly infuriating cab ride as then endless loop of John's pitiful countenance played over and over, refusing to kindly exit the mind palace. What was his blogger getting at anyway? Unabashedly staring at Sherlock as he rambled off standard deductions in a mediocre crime scene, with a look akin only to…only to…longing.

Didn't he know? Had Sherlock not warned him at Angelo's? It was about the work. It was always about the work. Even if it wasn't, couldn't John see? No, OBSERVE! What all the others, what all of Scotland Yard, regardless of their puny intellects, had realized within their first encounters of Sherlock. That he is not a man to stare at longingly. How had John missed this imperative and obvious detail?

It did not take a consulting detective to solve the case of the younger Holmes brother and his abhorrent, aberrant, abysmal, belligerent, bemused…

but there it was again…


	3. C is for Condescending

******A/N: I'll be the first to say that I have no idea where this is going. The drabbles were suppose to be unconnected, but that's not how it is going. Perhaps I'll give this storyline two more letters and then shift. Ya, that sounds good.**

**As always, reviews welcome along with any suggestions for upcoming letters!**

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**Condescending**

"…condescending and for that matter, not even correct! Do you really think that highly of yourself? Or that little of me?" It felt good getting everything out of his system the moment he opened the front door, and so far Sherlock hadn't interrupted him, and to John's pleasure, looked to be actually considering his words, possibly even remorsefully. The question hung in the air and John worried perhaps he had gone too far, been too harsh on the young detective, who after all, knew less about social interactions than he did the solar system. Sherlock had yet to look up.

"Sherlock?" John stepped forward, placing a tentative hand on the slim shoulder facing him. Sherlock's sudden start caused for another, regrettable gasp.

"Oh. John. When did you get here?"

That was it.

"No!"

"'No'? That is neither a time nor an appropriate response to my question," Grey eyes lifted to meet his own, revealing an unrecognizable dullness and two distinctly dilated pupils, "and if you please John, do stop spinning"

There's much said on the acute awareness of a doctor and the diligence of a soldier and the unyielding care of a friend. Little has been said on the combination of the three, but John Watson instinctively caught his best friend as he, elegantly as always, toppled out of the chair.


	4. D is for Desperate

**A/N: I hate this chapter.**

**Ok, fine, I don't hate it so much as it just felt... _blah_ after reading it a hundred times. I'm beginning to regret not writing in first person. Oh well. It is what it is. This story line will last 1 to 2 more chapters before I'm going to start a new one. Enjoy!**

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**Desperate**

"Desperate times call for desperate…"

"Finish that cliché, John, and I will…"

"Do what exactly Sherlock?" And that was that, wasn't it? Sherlock fruitlessly pulled at the restraints once more, but John Hamish Watson had outwitted the world's only consulting detective…who had admittedly been unconscious at the time. Still, Sherlock was confined to his bed by hospital cuffs which he had meticulously fought against for the last conscious hour. John had no doubt Sherlock tested every possible escape, stubborn as he was. Now he lay surrendered, elegant even in his captivity, but John shook his head. It was not the time for admiration.

"This. Is. Unnecessary." Each word was punctuated by Sherlock's head against the pillow. Despite himself John smirked. His best friend was a genius, and a toddler.

"No, Sherlock. Unnecessary is attacking your flat mate in a drug induced haze. This," John gestured, ignoring Sherlock resolutely shut eyes, "is a safety precaution. And a detox."

The proceeding groan of disapproval caused John—John needed to take back control of this situation. The ceiling was a much more neutral place to look. No supine detective, just the occasional bullet hole.

"Why? Why did you do it?" _Start simple._

"Let me up".

"That is neither a reason nor an appropriate…"

"Let me up. _Please_."

Please? There was the desperate measure.


End file.
